Election Day
by My Vantilene
Summary: AU where Nathan is still alive at the end of S4: Nathan and Peter- due to Nathan's persuasion- are both running for senator against each other. At first Peter doesn't like the idea of winning, but what if Charles was on to something when he saw him last?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, therefore Tim Kring wins.

Chapter I: Genesis II

The rain streamed down the window and left droplets as proof it was there, sort of marking its territory. Peter's apartment was out of sorts again and papers were scattered all over the minute room that barely counted as the paramedic's kitchen.

"We've got cereal, milk, and…ketchup," Peter smiled, opening up the fridge, "You pick."

"Cereal, I guess." Nathan scoffed, looking around at the worn-down apartment, "You can't keep living like this, Pete. Do you ever sleep?"

"It doesn't matter," he claimed, pulling a box of Corn Flakes off the empty cabinet shelf, "I told you, I like what I do. I mean," he grabbed the carton of milk from the refrigerator, "I get by and I save people. I think that's a pretty good deal."

"But you could have a better one."

"Look," Peter sighed, mixing the cereal and milk together from the last bowl not in the cluttered sink, "I know you're running for reelection next month, but you don't have to use your campaign speech on me."

"It's not a campaign speech; it's the truth."

"Yeah, the truth sounds like a pretty good campaign slogan to me."

"Well, at least I have the perseverance to go after something."

"You think it takes perseverance to put your name on a ballot, put up signs, and pay money to cover up family problems."

"Pete, it takes a lot to be a leader and to put everything at risk for a campaign. The American people need someone like me to open their eyes."

"Where ever do you come up with this stuff?" Peter sarcastically inquired, "Pfft!"

"I'm a senator, it's what I do."

"Right now you're not a senator. You're a candidate."

"But I was a week ago and just because we're a democracy doesn't mean New Yorkers will pick some new chump over what they're used to."

"Hah, you never know. New Yorkers might surprise you." That familiar optimistic smile was shaded on his face as he finally handed the bowl of cereal off to his older brother.

"Yeah, they might." Nathan mocked gruffly, "But you know that landslide last time proves they wanted me in office and since there wasn't any big crisis while I was in power…" here Peter gave him a disdainful glare, "…that they know of…" he corrected himself, "They're likely to have me for another few years."

"What if someone better steps up?"

"That's not going to happen." Nathan smiled, in a sort of good nature. Peter simply stared back at him blankly, like he just wanted this topic of their conversation to be over and done with, "Unless…" Peter's interest renewed in the conversation as Nathan gave him that suspecting gleam in his eye.

"Unless…?" he looked a little confused, first, because there was no "unless" in Nathan's world, and second because he seemed to be happy at the "unless" factor.

"Unless you run against me." he laughed.

"What?" Peter was out-right shocked. Nathan– cruel and kind as he is, did _not_ just say those last words. It was just inconceivable, the mere thought Peter would ever do something that stupid– that outrageous– that–

"Perfect." he laughed off the suggestion after he got over his shock, "Yeah, that's perfect." His words dripped with sarcasm and wallowed in insincerity, but Nathan just couldn't leave it at that.

"Think about it, it'd give the press something to talk about, brother against brother both running for senator, that way both our names would be noticed more by New York without even having to pay to put up signs. And, if you _do _win you might be able to upgrade from this…" he waved to motion the messy atmosphere of the apartment, "You were right. It_ is_ perfect."

If it was just any other man, he would probably say yes, but Peter had been around Nathan long enough to tell when he's trying to use you for something. When he said "And if you _do_ win" Peter could tell it was never going to happen. Nathan was going to use his younger brother for getting his name even more noticed and to save money on putting up signs.

"Yeah, sure, it's perfect for _you_. You just want the publicity. You know I'm not going to win." He bent down over the table Nathan was sitting at to look him square in the eye as his black bangs dipped over and covered one of his eyes.

"Peter." his tone changed, as did his method of persuasion, "You know you deserve better than this and you know you can't keep it up for much longer." He stood up from the shifty table, pushing his chair in. He called before he walked out the rickety door,

"Once you realize that, give me a call."

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Peter was lying on the ground, half-conscious as Charles Deveaux held out a hand for him to take.

"Not this again," he grumbled, but there was a sort of delight in his voice as he took the hand and steadied himself with two feet on the ground.

"Peter, you heard that conversation between Angela and I, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember and you're perfect grammar is still like I remember it too." He rubbed the back of his neck, that for some reason, began to throb in pain.

"Well, I still believe the things I said. They _were_ betting on the wrong brother and now, Nathan doesn't know what he's getting into– he's giving you the opportunity. You're going to win, Peter, I can feel it. It's going to happen, but it won't if you don't accept his offer, you don't even have the chance. Reconsider what he told you. He may be doing it for selfish reasons, and I'll tell you this, he sure doesn't expect you to win in a landslide. That's why you have to prove him wrong and Angela as well. And if you won't do it for Nathan or even yourself, do it for Simone and I…"

"Simone?" Peter's eyes burst open and he didn't even realize they were closed. He was in his bed, so it must've been a dream. He tried to remember if it was his mom's power he absorbed last, but, then again, this wasn't the first time something like this happened.

Did it actually mean something? Or was it just a random dream or a stray thought that wandered into his subconscious and therefore appeared in his dreams. He tried to hold onto that thought, but it wiggled free of his grasp. After all, where he came from, dreams weren't just things that happened by accident. They were things that happened by nature and there were no "accidents." Never.

Even so, he couldn't run for senator. Just the taste of "Senator Peter Petrelli" on his tongue disgusted him. It simply wasn't him, he could not be a senator. His personality was much too optimistic for one, and he smiled and joked around to much, so he could obviously say something by accident that would offend someone or do something of that nature. Besides, he had a good get-up here, as a paramedic and somehow, even with the mess, he liked his apartment. All his childhood, he had grown up in the Petrelli mansion living like royalty and there was no way he was going back to that life style. The Petrelli mansion might have been nice and had at least _some_ pleasant memories, but the house was almost empty and frigidly cold and lifeless. He liked the apartment because it was homey. It didn't necessarily blind anybody when they walked in, unlike the mansion, which was so dazzlingly blinding it wasn't suitable for living in, but instead to be prized and glorified.

But then, the idea of Charles's words floated back into his head. He loved Charles like a father and he loved Simone like, well– let's not go into _too _gruesome detail. He would do anything for them, anything he could to honor their memory. He would even suffer his childhood again to please them or make them proud.

Groggily, he somehow got to his phone and dialed Nathan's number.

"Hello?"

"Peter? It's 2:00 o'clock in the morning!"

"I'm in."

"What?"

"I'll do it. I'll run for senator."

_AN: Important questions, stated in bold. _

_I feel pretty good about this one. And, no, Nathan's not dead in this version, (sad face) but it is set at the end of season 4…how that makes sense, the world may never know. __**How did Arthur die if he took Adam Monroe's power?**__ Yeah, ole Charles is up to his old tricks again…maybe he'll rig the election…probably not. What if I were to tell you that I'm basing who wins off of reviews? Hmm? Review and put Nathan's name or do us all a favor and review with Peter's name attached. It could go either way…_

_P.S. Glee is retarded, "Baby" by Justin Beiber is not the song that describes our generation. A guy with a girl who says no to him? How does that reflect on the female demographic? Nuh-uh, "I so Hate Consequences" by Relient K is _definitely _the song of our generation. Fangirls squealing over things that don't involve Peter? Pfft! Idiots… _


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes. Go figure.

Chapter II: Ties

Quick and unofficial AN: Since I spared Nathan for this fic, things are screwing with my mind. So, even if Sylar didn't kill Nathan and Matt Parkman didn't do that crap with his mind, Peter and Sylar were still in "The Wall" (one of my personal favorites) but instead of being mad about Nathan's death, he was mad about Elle's. And, yes, I know I'm screwing with Peter's story because it was imperative Nathan died so he could stand on his on and, trust me, he will. But who says I have to kill the guy? And Claire did not jump off the Ferris wheel, therefore, the last episode was titled "Cowardly Old World" instead of "Brave New World"

When Peter finally woke up at the right time, his head was killing him. Maybe it was his body trying to tell him he shouldn't run for senator. He sure agreed with his body, but he had already told Nathan he would do it and his name would be in the running in a matter of days. Dizzily, he made it to the bathroom sink and splashed some water on his face. His shift started in fifteen, so he had to be awake, getting ready in that time.

"What have I done?" he asked his mirror image that was hanging, decapitated over the sink. He looked closer at his deep green eyes that were speckled with brown and his black, greasy hair that was hanging over his forehead. He really needed to take a shower, but he only had fifteen minutes and he doubted anyone cared if his hair wasn't smelling like lavender when he saved their life.

"This is for Simone…and Charles." he assured himself.

He made it to the kitchen and poured what was left from Nathan's visit into a bowl. He finished quickly, then shuffled over to his bedroom and dressed into his uniform. The clock read 4:57 a.m., which meant he had three minutes left to get ready and thirty to make it to the hospital.

"Ugh…" he moaned, trudging to the door, holding his head.

"Aspirin?" a familiar voice asked.

"Sylar, what are you doing here?"

"I heard you were running for senate."

"What? How the hell did you know? I told Nathan at 2:00 a.m."

"Yeah, word travels fast. It's all over the news." he claimed casually, as he pulled an apple out of his pocket and took a bite, "I wasn't sure it was true, though. I mean, no offense, but–"

"I know what you're going to say," he waved the comment aside and began walking out his door and down the hallway, "yeah, I don't know what I'm doing and I'm probably not going to win."

"Pssh, no. I was about to say _Nathan_ doesn't know what he's doing. Sure, he's got the background and degree in law, but that's only what other lawyers and politicians want. The people– remember them, the ones who are actually voting? Yeah, _they_ want someone charismatic, someone to represent how free-spirited and optimistic they are, even when they're not. And that's you, Peter, all the way."

"You make it sound like I'm a hippie-leader." Peter scoffed, pushing a button on the elevator.

"All I'm saying is that when it comes down to it, people are going to pick the hopeful brother over the strong brother."

"Oh, really?" Peter playfully punched him in the arm, "How's that for the strong brother."

"Hah, I think you're missing the point," all of a sudden his laughter-filled expression contorted into a look of fright.

"Something wrong?"

"Don't freak out," he ordered as the two men stepped into the elevator, "But I think they're might be something wrong with your brain."

"What?" he looked at him sternly indicating he was doing the opposite of what he told him to do.

"Here," he gestured his hand out to him, "take healing, it may hurt a bit, but I think I can fix it."

"Okay," he took his hand and absorbed Claire's ability, "just don't go psychotic on me again."

"Scout's honor," he said as he tore the skin off the back of Peter's head. After a few telekinetic corrections, Sylar urged together the two flaps of skin that became divided when the incision was made and the healing ability took care of the rest.

"How do you feel?"

"Better, thanks." The elevator opened on the ground floor as Sylar added, "I'm just glad no one else was in the elevator."

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Smoke was everywhere, in his eyes, in his lungs, and in his way. The whole "not dying" thing helped, though. Rages of fire spread across the building and windows began to fall out and melt away into nothing. The whole building was diminishing. Peter knew it was a fireman's duty to get the people out of the burning building and the paramedic's job to treat the patient as much as they can before they arrive at the hospital to get further treatment, but he could not– _would_ not stand around and do nothing as firemen, weighed down with equipment, couldn't get a single person out of the burning building. But Peter could– Peter _would_.

There was a little girl with soft brown hair and crystal-clear, cobalt eyes crawling around on the floor. Peter smothered her in the fire-retardant blanket and eased her into his arms. There was a creaking noise. He looked up and to both their horror, they saw that the roof was about to cave in. But there wasn't time. He began to run for the exit, but he was sure he would never make it. But he did. One second, he was there in the burning building, the heat suffocating him, he grew his lungs back, then the heat suffocating again, and the next he was out of the building, behind the paramedic van, with the girl in his arms.

"Daphne." She gasped.

"What?"

"Matt mentioned a girl that could do that before…"

"Matt Parkman?"

"Yeah, you know him?" she asked, out of breath. He laid her down on the gurney as she rambled on.

"Yeah. I know him. Who are you?"

"I'm Molly Walker and you are?" her voice was choppy, as was her breath. Her lungs still hadn't recovered from the building and she had burn marks all over her as well as tears in her eyes.

"Peter Petrelli, an old friend of Matt's." he smiled and bent down towards her, "And I'm going to make sure you're okay."

"Thanks." She beamed, "You're my hero."

"It was nothing…" he blushed.

"Well, then I guess nothing just saved my life." she reached up and kissed his cheek in thanks. The other paramedics loaded her into the car as she waved,

"By Peter!"

"Cute kid." Peter's partner sighed from behind him, "Was that you who saved her?"

"Huh?" he gasped, realizing his presence, "What? No. That was a firefighter."

"Then why was she thanking you?"

"She's a friend of mine's- ugh, daughter."

"Well, then wipe that goofy grin off your face before people start thinking you're a child molester."

"Dude, that's disgusting."

"Hey," he shrugged, "That's just what it looks like." After Peter turned and started walking towards the fire, a little shocked he still could use Edgar's ability, maybe a reaction to whatever Sylar had done in his mind had given him his original power back? Whatever it was, Peter was glad of it as he walked off, surely to try and save more lives.

Too bad his phone stopped him.

After the Code Lyoko theme song rung one and a half times, Peter picked up.

"Hello?"

"Peter, we have a bit of a situation."

"What is it, Ma?"

"Claire. We need your help."

"I'll be right over." Using his newly acquired super-speed, he made it to the Petrelli mansion in less than five seconds after hanging up. He knocked on the door.

"That was fast." remarked Angela as she opened the door to let her son in.

"What's wrong with Claire?"

"There was a terrible…_incident_ at her school." By the way she said incident, he knew someone had tried to either hurt Claire or expose her.

"Where is she?"

"In the living room. I'll see if she's ready to talk."

Claire was inside the extravagantly elegant living room of the priceless mansion, sitting on the left side of the couch. Peter sat down next to her and put his arm around her in comfort as she sunk her head into his shoulder.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

"Gretchen. She was mad because– er, well…it's a long story."

"I'm all ears."

"Well, it wasn't a long story…just a lesbian one."

"Ah…" Peter nodded in understanding. College was a crazy place for crazy things, he knew that as well as she did.

"She was mad and during a science experiment for one of her classes…she…she…"

"It's okay Claire. You can tell me."

"She sawed my arm off while I was asleep and used it for her experiment." She burst into tears. Peter held her shaking figure steadily in his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"But– that's not all she did. She told the professor it was my arm and the autopsy doesn't lie. They know. All of them." He looked up at Angela for verification. Her jaw line barely supported the frown she bore.

"We had to have Rene erase all of their memories and shred all documents, feeds from security tapes and God knows what else. She needs to stay somewhere safe in the mean time. I thought it wouldn't be too much trouble if–"

"I'll do it." he replied. With his arm still around her they both stood up and headed for the door.

"And Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"What is this I hear of running for senate?"

"Can we talk about this later? I have a shift right now and I have to get Claire and her thing back to my place."

"What? There's no way you could–" he sped off with Claire, came back for her things, dropped them off, then returned to work.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

When Peter finally got home, it was 5:00 a.m. and Claire was asleep on the floor, next to her suitcase. Smiling to himself at how innocent she looked, more like a child than the college student she was, he picked her up and carried her to his bed. After wrapping the navy sheets around her, he took one out from his closet and set it on the floor. Thinking of Simone and worrying about the election, he fell asleep.

_AN:_

_Okay…I know what you're thinking but no Paire, sorry, not my style. She's his niece. And no, I will not call Peter an uncle because uncle just doesn't sound right on him. Maybe I'll have to make up a new name for uncle? Hmm? Did anyone notice that when Peter and Nathan first discovered their abilities and were talking about telling someone, Nathan said that if he was the government he would round all of them up and put them in a lab? Did anyone notice that's what he did? And when HRG first joined the company he said he was comfortable with morally grey, and on that park bench with Angela, he said for a long while, he's always been comfortable with morally grey. And that scene with Molly was like a scene from a movie a saw one time…can't remember the name but it sort of went like that so my subconscious snuck the kiss in there. It was a kid-friendly-gratitude-make-believe-you-saved-the-princess type of kiss. So wipe that goofy grin off your face before Peter's partner (whose name escapes me) calls you a child molester! Did I make Molly sound indestructible? My bad, she's going to be in the hospital for awhile. Maybe her hero will visit her sometime? Hmm? Emma? Hmm? Matt? Micah? Hmm? Mohinder? Tell me someone got the Code Lyoko reference, it was pretty obvious. I gave him his original power back! Don't ya love me? Choppy questions, don't you love _them_? I'm done ranting? Had to make that a question? Review, please?_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Hard to believe, because I'm such an expert on the subject, but I do not own Heroes.

Chapter III: Visits

When Peter woke up on the make-shift floor-bed, he could smell a hint of some sort of meat. He sniffed a little harder, and thanks to his unmatchable recon skills, figured someone was making bacon.

"Claire?" he called, just to make sure it wasn't his neighbors frying bacon. But the sizzle of the grill was so distinct, so loud in his ears, that he knew it had to be coming from his own kitchen.

"Yeah, I'm a bit of an early bird and there wasn't anything in the fridge or pantry but ketchup and an empty carton of milk, so I ran to the store. Hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. Sorry about the mess, I probably would've cleaned up a bit more if I knew you were coming."

"It's okay. It reminds me of my dad's apartment. 'Feels kinda…_homey_." Peter smiled to himself; they were definitely related.

"Good. And hopefully some of that bacon is for me…?"

"Of course," she laughed, "it is _your_ grill."

"Where did you get the money for that anyways?" he inquired, sitting down on one of the bar stools.

"Grandma gave me some. She kind of told me I would need it over here. No offense or anything."

"Ah," he waved off the comment, "It's nothing. She's not the first Petrelli to say something like that."

"Nathan?"

"Yeah, and you can thank him for the food shortage."

"Aren't you running for senate against him?" she asked nonchalantly as she flipped the crisping bacon over again on the grill's number eight setting.

"I guess so." He shrugged.

"You guess so? Hah, so this is no big deal for you?"

"Actually," he was about to explain to her the dream with Charles and Simone, but, since she probably didn't know who either of those people were, he just shook his head, "Somebody once told me I'd do it. I want to prove him right."

"Well…" a smile creased her lips, "I turned eighteen last month and as of tomorrow, I will be a citizen in the state of New York…Letting me stay with you _does_ give you some props."

"Speaking of that, do you have any plans for what college you're going to go to here in New York?"

"No plans whatsoever." she beamed, as she flipped the bacon onto a paper plate, since the rest were in the dish washer, "But I think I'll figure it out…eventually."

"Any idea of what you want to study?"

"Marine-biology." She put the plate of bacon on the counter, "I know I did a fake report on manatees one time, but I did read the book about their endangerment to becoming extinct and I want to help." He smiled again; _definitely _related.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," she said, flipping a piece of bacon in her mouth, "the medical field sounds great, but–"

"It's okay. I get it," he ripped of a piece of his own, "no one wants to deal with the blood. Or medical school. Trust me, not too fun." He glanced over at the clock,

"Whoa, I didn't know it was this early."

"What are you talking about? It's only eleven."

"Hah, I kind of have a messed up sleeping pattern. I normally get up at 4:45, get to work by 5:30, get off work at 4:30, and get home by 5:00."

"Whoa, you sound busy."

"Yeah, but I don't work everyday. Just Monday through Thursday."

"Today's Wednesday, so…" she popped another piece of bacon into her mouth.

"Yeah, have to work today. Actually, it's a good thing I woke up early."

"Why? Aren't you just more sleep-deprived?"

"Well," he began, chewing on a strip of bacon, "There was this little girl at the hospital. I wanted to see if she's alright and I doubt she'll be awake at 4:30."

"True." Claire concurred, sticking her strip of bacon in the air as if raising a glass to toast.

"You think you'll be alright here?" he asked, picking up his coat.

"Right as rain." She smiled.

"Okay good," he put both his arms through the sleeves and adjusted the collar, "I'll be back in thirty, you want me to pick up anything?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"'Kay." With that, he sped out the door.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

"Molly?" he asked in a hush tone, just incase she was asleep.

"Peter?" he pulled the curtain aside and walked into the room.

"Peter!" she exclaimed, clearly excited to see him.

"You feeling better?" he questioned. She nodded vigorously, beaming all the while.

"I saw you on the TV." she claimed, "You're running for something?"

"Yeah. Senate."

"Against your brother?"

"Yup."

"One time I went up against my brother. But it was only in a race. I lost."

"Well, I'm sure you've gotten faster since then." Peter assured her, "A good challenge brings out the best in us, makes us work harder."

"Yeah, but I don't have anyone to race against now. He died when the boogeyman came to my house." Peter was taken aback.

"The…boogeyman?"

"Yeah, the man who cuts people's heads off."

"Ah…" he muttered in understanding underneath his breath, "Sylar…" he didn't want to look her in the eye when he said his name, so his eyes wandered to the plastic table beside her bed. It had a crayon-produced drawing on it. He picked it up,

"What's this?"

"It's a picture," her radiant smile returned, "of my three heroes. Mohinder, Matt, and you." He couldn't help but smile at the stick figure drawing of Suresh, himself, and an-almost-stick-figure version of Matt Parkman. It was too cute.

"You know Mohinder?"

"Yeah, he's the one who cured me from a disease his sister died from. Shanti, I think her name was. I helped him locate some people."

"Oh…" Peter murmured under his breath again, realizing this was the girl with clairvoyance Suresh had mentioned. Clearly not hearing him, she continued,

"Too bad he went back to India and Matt went back to his family. I've been at that foster home ever since they left. Well, until it burnt down, anyways." After a pause she face-palmed herself and laughed,

"I almost forgot to put him on there."

"Who?"

"He called himself Rebel, but his real name is Micah. He protected me from the government when they tried to round us up, which I'm sure they did to you too. But afterwards, he asked me to do him a favor. I located his cousin, Monica, for him. I never saw Micah again and I doubt I ever will. I also doubt I'll ever see Mohinder or Matt again. And maybe I won't see you again after today. That's how it works, I guess– with heroes, I mean. They save you, and then run off to save somebody else. I'm okay with it, I guess. I'm just glad to be saved, you know?"

No, Peter did not know. Nathan had been his hero and he never ran off to save somebody else's life. Never. For as long as he could remember Nathan had always been there. But what would happen to his hero once the election started heating up?

_AN:_

_I know, I know, in the graphic novels, Molly goes to live with Suresh's grandma where she obtains the name Ujah, or something like that which means light in Indian. Is that what the language is called even? Oh well, I'm only English, Spanish, and some Japanese. And thanks to people for being patient with this one, I know I like to write about ass-kicking like Shattered Eclipse and Gate to the Sky, but don't worry; we'll get to that. Hehe, realized something. Tim Kring _really_ wanted Nathan to die. Instead of doing that Matt Parkman mind-screw, he could've just given him a sample of Claire's blood, like he did with HRG. Speaking of HRG, you know he's not really in this story, but somehow I feel his presence…_

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

_Ya know, it could just be me…_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes

Disclaimer (Microsoft synonym-style): I execute not personal Male-Protagonists

Chapter IV: Power Fleeting

On his way to the hospital to start his shift, Peter was flipping through the list of who was running for what, smiling to himself, thinking that Nathan must've been doing the same thing, but at much higher criteria. He skimmed through everything else, like who was running for what in the B.O.E and such, and only read the people running for senate. Surprisingly, there were only 3, Nathan, himself, and some guy named Richard Lorenzo.

He had gotten a text from Nathan a couple minutes ago about how they were both going to give a campaign speech near Kirby Plaza in a few days. He wasn't too worried about it, but he didn't want to sound like the hippie Sylar described him as, he had to be the strong leader that according to Sylar, Nathan was. After all, the people of New York didn't care about spirit or hope; they cared about determination and ambition. It didn't matter if no one knew what Peter had done to keep the city safe or not, they were still going to go with Nathan. But, for Charles and Simone, he would try and hopefully, he would succeed, even if the odds didn't show that.

He swerved off the highway and onto the road that led to the hospital and through a series of dodging, he made it.

"Hey," he called to Emma, making sure she read his lips.

"Hello, Peter." she welcomed back in that accent of hers, "Another long shift?"

"Yeah, pretty much." he answered, putting on his paramedic jacket, "You going to Lester's party tomorrow?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Good," he beamed, "I'll see you there." With that he ran off to join Lester on his shift.

"Hey, I heard you went to go see that girl in the hospital." he claimed as Peter came up on his left.

"How did you hear that?"

"I also heard that building was a foster home. She didn't have parents. So, what are you, some sort of pervert?" Peter remembered after he saved Claire some detective asked him the same question.

"My friend was her legal guardian for a while, but he was divorced then and now he's back with his wife and kid."

"That's sappy."

"Ask her yourself if you want, she'll tell you the same thing." He shrugged and they both got in the car.

After a few turns, they got to the spot of the 911 call. The roof had a cave in and crushed almost all of the residents. Peter ran in and put a hand to one of the guys' forehead, trying to use Jeremy's power to heal it. But nothing happened. He was a little confused at first, but then it became clear as some debris from the accident tumbled onto his arm, causing it to bleed. And it wasn't healing.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

It was a long night, but he finally trudged back to his rickety apartment, without any of his abilities. Sure, he had done pretty well as a paramedic even without them, but it still made him feel like crap. His arm was still bothering him, even with the temporary cast on.

He was about to just fall on the floor and call it a night, but he realized Claire wasn't asleep.

"Are you okay?" there was no answer.

"Hello?" maybe she really was asleep.

"Shh!" came a harsh whisper. Nope, still awake.

"What is it?"

"Sylar was in your apartment."

"Oh," he laughed, "did he break in again? I keep telling him to knock, but he insists it's not his style."

"What? A serial killer was in your apartment and you're just joking about it?"

"Claire, do you remember that night at the fair when Emma, the violinist was playing as a siren?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, she would've killed thousands if it wasn't for Sylar. I had a dream about it before hand, so I went to go find him. I went to Matt Parkman only to find he had trapped Sylar in his own worst nightmare. So, as bull-headed as I am, I went inside to bring him out. But I was trapped in there too. For six years. In the nightmare, seconds were days and months were minutes. After all that time, I could see he was a different person and I forgave him. Turns out, that was the only way out. So, I defeated Samuel and Sylar saved Emma. In short, Sylar's okay. For now."

"Then why was he in your apartment?"

"He comes over sometimes."

"When you're not home?"

"I guess he might've thought I was and just left when he realized I wasn't."

"But how could you just forgive him? He killed Elle!"

"I know, I know, and it was hard, believe me. It took six years."

"Mhmm…that makes me feel better." she said sarcastically.

"Ah, just go to bed." he laughed.

"Maybe I will!" she giggled, throwing a pillow at him.

_AN:_

_OMSG, so sorry for the shortness of this chapter, going to see I Am Number 4 with my friend and her brother. WOOT! But at least now you know I took his powers away. Don't worry it may only be temporary… I'm not sure yet. Or maybe I am, oh well…In all honest truth, this is only a side effect to Sylar's "Surgery" thing he did and the only reason I took this little detour was for the next chapter, which will be awesome because I'm a fangirl with absolute power over Peter and things could get interesting. Someone please tell me Peter's partner's name is Lester, because I just took a stab at that one. And yes, he's having a party. We may run into some unexpected friends we know…or enemies we don't. _


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes, but I'm pretty sure you already knew that.

Chapter V: New Bloats and Old

Quick AN: Okay, so thanks to some reviewers, I now know his name is Hesam, or something like that, since my computer that I'm typing on doesn't have any internet, I can't tell, but it is something close to that. Man do I feel stupid. Oh, and see if you can find the hidden reference to a season 1 episode. Winner gets a request on what I do to Peter in the next chapter.

Claire sat on the bed, cross-legged as Peter threw out some clothes from the closet, trying to decipher which one he wanted to wear. He held up two ties,

"Red or blue?"

"Blue." she replied. He tossed the blue one back into the closet and kept the red one in his hands,

"I think I might go with the red it makes me look more…more…"

"More what?"

"Never mind."

"You're right, _never mind_," she stood up and walked over to the closet and stared leafing through his clothes and finally picked some dark jeans with a black muscle shirt and a checkered jacket, "Wear this." she shoved it into his hands and plucked the red tie out of them, placing it back into the discarded pile of rejected clothing.

"Ugh…" his eyes trailed back to the tie lying on the ground.

"It's a party, not a job interview. If you're so worried about what Emma thinks of what you're wearing, then go with something that doesn't let her know that. Trust me, girls find that as a turn off."

"Fine," he sighed, giving in and moving to the bathroom to change.

"You think you're going to be okay here by yourself?" his voice called from the crack of the almost-closed door. She brushed her back against the wall,

"You always ask that before you leave to go somewhere." she chuckled to herself, then yelled louder so he could hear her, "I'll be fine. But will you? You don't really have any line of defense with your powers gone."

"_Momentarily _gone," he corrected, "And yes, I'll be fine." he stepped out of the bathroom and gestured with his hands to the outfit.

"You look fine, Emma's going to love you." She smiled for a second, but then a small, frustrated frown creased her lips.

"One last thing." She ruffled his hair so that his one-sided bangs would fall into his face and the rest of the hair on that side tucked behind one ear. She beamed at the familiar style, "Better."

"Good." he looked at his watch, "Well, I got to go." He shuffled toward the door and that over his shoulder added, "Call me if you need anything."

"I won't." she assured him. He turned his head around as he continued to walk,

"But if you _do_..."

"Then I'll call." she finished as he walked out and shut the door behind him.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Her forehead thumped the familiar tune over and over again in time for the beat. It was as if she had a heart beat up there. The sweat was smeared all over her as she had tried to wipe it off, but the watery residue still remained blotched all over her face. There was dirt also layered on, especially on the trail of dry tears that had paved a path from the deep, droopy bags of her eyes to her discrete jaw-line. Caked on that, was blood. Horrible puddles of it were pooled all around her and some had managed to seep in to her boots as she walked. In short, she looked like an absolute mess. She had been running for so long, hiding in ditches, trying to keep herself from crying even though she knew it would have to happen eventually, and killing – or at least watching people be killed and not doing anything to stop, though she knew full and well she could. But, yet, she walked on. Trying to ignore the terrifying screams that were sure to be the person's last and the blood-curdling cracking noise that comes when bones tear. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion for her, as if the devil was making her watch all of the misfortune her stupid decisions have made in agonizingly clear clarity, taking it in leisurely, like it was mocking her. And it probably was, and it had every right. She had done some bad things that most people would find cruel to protect the person she cared about most. And luckily for her, he was only a mile away, waiting for her. So, just for tonight, she would walk on and let her thoughts drown out the cries, and demoralizing noises of insides being pulled out the roughest way possible, and be in a state of complete bliss, without having to be reminded of her crimes, for the first time in awhile.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Peter was having a great time at Hesam's party. Him and Emma had danced, he had talked to Hesam awhile, and mingled with the other guests. He didn't want to necessarily call it "mingling", though. That word sort of sounded like he was being forced to talk to people he didn't want to, but this was quite different than some of the mingling had to do when Nathan invited him to one of those "lawyer" or more recently "senator" parties. This one reminded him of college, in a way.

After he had enjoyed a great deal of his time there, something caught his eye. Well, not exactly something, but someone. He told Emma to hang on a second, then moved to the back of Hesam's apartment.

"Claude?"

"What the bloody deuce–" he turned around at the mention of his name, but he sure didn't expect to see Peter.

"Well, if it isn't the exploding man himself, what brings you here?"

"Hesam, he's my partner at my job."

"Who is this man?" asked the brunette he was talking to before Peter came around.

"It's okay, Abigail, he's a friend– well, sort of." He eyed Peter again making him shift uncomfortably.

"How do you know Hesam?"

"Abigail, here is getting married to his brother. But I don't know him. I'm just here for the drinks."

"Claude!" she playfully elbowed him.

"Ah," he nodded understandingly, "Well, I'm here with a date, so I should probably get back to that." He slinked back to where Emma was as Claude made a very sexist joke, making Peter a little glad she couldn't hear him. Peter grabbed two drinks off the table and handed one to her.

A man in the shadows watched as they talked and laughed some more. He had gotten what he wanted. Smiling to himself, he reached for his drink and chugged it down, knowing there was no way on the Earth that he could get drunk.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Claire sat on the opposite side of the couch as Sylar. _Sylar. _She couldn't believe she was doing this. She had invited that monster over solely to destroy him physically or break him mentally, which ever one came first, but here she was watching the new edition of Star Trek, sitting on the same navy furniture. He had given the biggest sob story. He admitted to his wrongs, said he wanted to change, blah, blah, blah. She didn't buy it…at first. But something about the way he cringed instinctively when she moved a hand anywhere near him, the gleam in his eye, and how every time he spoke he made sure he didn't do so out of turn. Like she was someone special to him that he would walk on egg shells to please. And that fact alone pleased her. But, as she would tell herself over and over, only a little.

Somehow during the movie, her and Sylar had moved closer together. At first, she was convinced it was his telekinesis, but it wasn't him at all, he wasn't even the one who moved. It was her. _She_ had moved closer to_ him_. In all sorts, it sounded wrong, terribly wrong. But it was the truth. And by the time Scottie came in and started messing with physics, she had pressed her head to his shoulder, but she hadn't noticed. She gave a yawn and closed her eyes, drifting into sleep with little resistance. Absentmindedly, she had fallen asleep on Sylar. Though it didn't sound like the probable thing, she felt herself gravitate towards him, something inside him had called out to her and the back of her mind wanted to follow. Claire herself didn't want to, but that's what was happening as she started to fall asleep. But just before she did there were stumbling knocks on the door that were clumsily spaced out from one another. Sylar was about to open the door, but didn't want to disturb Claire, who he thought was asleep. Luckily the knocking woke her up and she walked to open it. Peter staggered in, wearing the dumbest smile she had ever seen.

"H-hey, Claire!" his voice sounded blissful, but something about it made it sound like he was trying to make a dramatic point, not merely saying hello. He put a hand on her shoulder, then fell into her arms.

"Oh, gosh."

"What is it?" he asked, a look of concern swept across his face, "Is Peter drunk again?" Claire looked at him in surprise,

"Again?"

"When we were stuck together in Matt Parkman's dreamland-thing he thought up some beer and started drinking when he realized he might have to spend eternity with me. Hah, he said the stupidest things when he was…" he smiled at the memory, then turned to Claire, "He just needs to lie down for a little while. But not sleep, sleep makes the hangover worse in his case. He might say some random, brainless things, but he'll be a lot better." Claire tried to carry Peter to the couch, but he was far too heavy. But somehow as she trudged over, he became lighter and lighter until he didn't have any weight at all and slipped right into the air. She turned to see that Sylar was using telekinesis to lure Peter to the couch, who was saying some haphazard comments. Claire, personally, did not like seeing Sylar do something so degrading to Peter, throwing him around like a rag doll, but seeing the concentration and sincerity etched into his bistre eyes, she decided not to yell at him.

She knelt down on beside the couch and asked,

"Peter, how did you get home?"

"The nice man showed me how the flowers work. I just took it from there." She stifled a laugh, then addressed him again,

"What nice man?"

"The one with the trench coat and the red beard. But don't even get me started on the nickels."

"I didn't ask you about the nickels, Peter." her tone of voice took a sort of teacher-talking-to-dumb-little-kid feel as she tried to steady his sudden flailing arms while she talked, "I asked you about how you got home."

"And I told you about the cow and the taiga, now that we've got the obvious out of the way, do you mind passing me another glass?" he inquired as he started to twirl a piece of her hair and his eyes zeroed in on it as if it was the most interesting creature he'd ever seen.

"No, Peter, there's no more left, okay? But I need you to be still for me, do you think you can do that?" he nodded vigorously and continued to talk,

"So, what's the sitch?"

"What?"

"! I see dead people!"

"No. You absolutely do not see dead people." Sylar turned his back on the duo in hopes of hiding his blustering laughter.

"But I didn't sign up to be collateral damage! No way! As if!"

"No one said you did."

"If you were to tell me the bubbles tickle your nose…then I will probably KILL YOU!"  
"Calm down, Peter!" Sylar swallowed his laughter and turned around with a serious face, ready to help. That is, until Peter started singing,

"Our conversations they include a deadly flaw

Our conversations change from words, to blah, blah, blah

We took prescription drugs but look how much good that did

I think I had a point but I just got distracted

Cause lately it just seems to me

Like we've got the letters A-D-D

Blending in to what mentality

Because we can't focus on anything

Because 17, 18, 19, routine,

Year 23, it's the same old me

We're wondering in the moment where we very momentarily almost sort of kind of break the cycle of a double-edged sword," as Peter sang, they turned back on the movie, and his words and melody drifted to nothing.

Well, at least Claire wasn't alone with Sylar anymore. But, the two of them _were_ the only ones sober.

_AN:_

_Oh gosh, I did it. I got Peter drunk! Honestly, that's the only reason I took his powers. I'll give them back, don't worry. And, Sky, I think it might've been the Haitian because Peter shot him in the forehead, not the back of the head. I considered it being an eclipse thing, but then Sylar would've been able to use his telekinesis. Yeah, I just threw in a random character in the middle of this chapter. At least now I know this story isn't all filler. And, yes, Peter did meet a "nice man." :D He has an awesome beard, too. It's a shame he doesn't know how to use it. Review if you got the references Peter said (I know everybody got the Kim Possible one) and review even if you didn't. Hint: one was a Relient K song and I think I might've gotten the lyrics wrong cause I did it from memory. I except flames. _


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own Heroes: Disclaimer.

Chapter VI: Burn-out Kid

Peter sat on the edge of the cement that lined the red-blocked landmark and the water it withheld to the street. Everything about that place brought back memories, the time he collapsed and had that dream (not knowing he had absorbed Angela's precognitive ability) about him exploding, the place Sylar died for the first time, where his brother had saved his and everyone else's life, where he had first met Ted Sprague. A few buildings down was the Deveaux building, where he had taken care of Charles, where he had trained with Claude, where he had seen Isaac and Simone kiss, throwing him into a frenzy to stop the bomb, or maybe even let the bomb inside him blow, just to see both of them die. Well, to see Isaac die, mostly. But, in sorts, he had gotten his wish. They were both dead. Together. He shuddered, but remembered he had Emma now. A lot had changed since the events at Kirby Plaza. Come on, him and Sylar were friends.

_Sylar._

_Friends. _

Those two words never belonged in a sentence together, but somehow, Peter made them play nice.

A sturdy and confident hand thrust to his shoulder,

"Ya ready, Pete?"

He barely had a sentence of his speech prepared. He had spent the morning with a hangover from the other night. Without Sylar's help, he probably would still be having one, but the laying-down-conscious trick had worked. Maybe Sylar's ability was worth something after all.

"Do I have a choice?" he smiled reluctantly, "So who is this Richard Lorenzo guy?"

"He went to Cornel, graduated top of his class, high school valedictorian; he's going to be hard to beat."

"Then why did you suck me into this?" he stood up, his eyes glancing to the podium that was set up like it had been when Nathan gave his winning speech, but not exactly where. Whoever decided to set it up at Kirby Plaza was obviously trying to get to Peter.

Nathan only had time to give a small almost-a-word noise before Angela broke up the party,

"Hello, boys."

"Hey, Ma." they both replied. She turned to Peter and gave him a glare,

"So, as I asked before, what is this I hear of you running for senate?"

Peter had half a mind to say "It was Nathan's idea!" like he had been caught holding a spray-paint can next to some graffiti. That had actually happened to him one time, that time it also being Nathan's idea. But he refrained with a small chuckle, then assured her that he knew what he was doing, even though he had absolutely no idea.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Claire stared as Sylar poured himself a bowl of cereal. She found that's all she could do, watch his every move and make sure he didn't get out of hand. She had to; she felt it was her duty to the world to make sure this monster never terrorized anyone else ever again. She planned on striking him dead the minute she saw the empath, but she was better than that. She was better than Sylar.

He could feel her cold, beady gaze on him, staring him into oblivion. There was a frigid and lifeless smile playing on her lips. Something about her overall appearance seemed malicious to him. And in all honestly, the immortal being was scared out of his mind. She wanted to hurt him, he could tell thanks to Lydia's power. But he also sensed something else there. Maybe the thing holding her back? Could it be Peter? Or maybe she knew her limits, that she just couldn't kill a man who was looking for redemption. Whatever it was, it kept Sylar sane.

"So…" Sylar nonchalantly tried to make conversation as a carnivorous-eyed Claire stared him as if daring him to try anything, "Peter's speech is going to be on in a couple minutes." Her expression softened at the thought of her uncle. _Good_, thought Sylar, _Something we have in common._

"Hah, I don't think he has any idea what he's doing." Claire laughed. The first time he'd seen her laugh in a while.

"Yea, probably, but he is the best at improv, I'm sure he'll think of something."

"I hope so. I don't want him going up there and making a fool of himself on national television."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"Yea, at least he wasn't drunk going up there. That would've been the end of his career. Or if he followed your hippie-advice."

"What?"

"He said," she giggled, "he said you give hippie-advice." Now it was Sylar's turn to laugh,

"Hah, is that what he says behind my back?"

"He also says you need to learn how to operate a door-bell and stop breaking into his apartment." She chuckled.

"And I say, that's not my style." his voice had a certain flimsiness to it.

Okay, wrong thing to say. Now Claire was thinking about what his style was. And his style was indeed breaking into people's houses. And eventually killing them. She soon felt disgusted at herself for fraternizing with the serial killer. And what disgusted her even more was that she liked it.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

The lights flashed on and off as the press standing in the front of the showcase crammed their cameras for a picture of the only Petrelli who dared to avoid their narcissistic intentions of making profit from their tabloids. He smiled and lifted a hand as a sort of wave, but did not entirely give in and directly face the current events correspondents. But he had to when he reached the podium and by that time his mind had completely gone blank. What was he supposed to do to start a speech? State his name or what he's running for? Or just flat out say his thesis statement? Thankfully, by the time the applause (not from adoring fans, but rather respecting audience members) died down and the poparazzi were satisfied with their slanted, profiled pictures, Peter had reached a decision. Yup, this was the first (and probably the last) time he would take a page from Sylar's book.

"There are a lot of problems in the world today. Famine, low-education, no rights still for some people? But here in the city of New York, we are living in a new age of prosperity. A new age where the future is not written yet. We can't erase our wrongs that have been written in stone, but we can help fix them, make up for them. The north once fought to get blacks out of slavery. And there is no doubt in my mind that we will fight for what's right again. Because that's just who we are. That's who I believe we should let the world know we are. That's who I am willing to represent you as.

"My own brother once said in his victory speech, there's no one who cares about this city more than me." He gave a smile and stepped down from the podium as the light flashed across his path, but never reaching his face. The crowd was applauding once again, but this time it wasn't out of respect and politeness, it was out of pride and admiration.

As he walked back to his place in line next to Nathan, Richard Lorenzo caught his eye. He had jaded eyes and a copper beard, both seemingly good-natured as he gave a friendly laugh. Peter swore there was something in his eyes, something in his smile, something in his voice that seemed all-too-familiar.

_AN:_

_I feel horrible! My chapters keep getting shorter and shorter! Oh well, hope you enjoyed that Sylaire. Am I the only one who thinks Sylaire just sounds French for Sylar? Oh and Sky, you're awesome. I never thought anyone would get the reference. Go ahead, tell me anything you want to see Peter do. That was the deal, right? :D_

_Peter is one smart person, if he remembers a speech he was too busy being blown up to hear. Yeah, you caught me, for that last line I was listening to "Faust, Midas, and Myself" by Switchfoot while writing this. 'Cause in the song it goes, "Something in his eyes, something in his smile, something in his voice that made my skin crawl off." Or some other order I think. I'm not a very good listener._

_But I am a good reader and I would love to read a review._

_If you do review you can complain about my sentences being choppy (even in the AN)_


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Let the games begin.

Chapter VII: The Tide is Turning

After the speech, he had taken Claire and Sylar out to celebrate at some burger joint outside of town. Peter had gotten out of there before Richard or Nathan had given their speeches, mainly due to the fact Richard had given him the creepiest look ever and for that alone he risked not seeing the rest of his brother's speech. But no need to fear, the place had a TV that was broadcasting the event. When the waitress put two and two together, she was astonished to see Peter, the man who was on TV, she swears, "two seconds ago." Peter smiled politely and ordered a hotdog and some fries. Claire ordered a cheeseburger and Sylar, who surprisingly had never been to a burger joint when he lived in Queens, asked if they had any venison, which made her very confused. After a few minutes of arguing, Peter informed the waitress that all he wanted was a coke. Sylar smiled very perplexed-like. For a guy who could figure everything out, he had no clue what as going on.

Once the food was dished out, they tuned to hear the speeches. It was Nathan's turn and he was smiling that white, crisp, pseudo-smile of his.

"This state needs a leader, someone strong with integrity, someone who knows what the people want and knows how to represent them in the senate. I'm convinced by that last speech, that the man for that is me. What my brother, Peter, has highlighted are vague accusations of the future, things I'm sure he doesn't know too much about. He's always been the dreamer of the family, I've been the realist. We all know about his mental health, trying to jump off a building and kill himself. And promise, I won't die one you.

"Now I know from experience what it is like to serve this great nation, not on the battle field, but in the actual nation, what it is like to grow to love the people, not to grow to hate the war. This wonderful state of New York needs someone to fight and defend, not to give false promises of hope that will turn to dust when he is elected. The time for change is now!" With that last line he walked away from the podium and back to his place next to Lorenzo, a prestigious smile beaming from his lips.

It was dead silence at the table as Claire and Sylar waited to see Peter's reaction of just having his name slandered by his own brother in front of the whole United States.

His jaw hung down, and the straw in his hand he was about to pluck out of the wrapper and into the top of his drink dropped out of his grasp and slumped to the ground.

"Peter…" Claire and Sylar both whispered sympathetically in unison. He stood up from the table and walked out the door without saying another word.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Peter was brushing his teeth when a harsh rasp on the door rattled his tiny apartment.

"Peter!"

He kept brushing his teeth, this time a little harder as he bore down on the toothbrush, using it as a stress-reliever.

"Peter!"

This time his teeth began to gnash along with the toothbrush as he spitefully spit out the white foamy liquid once its job was done. Claire watched the door from the other room, trying to burn the person on the other side of it with her mind. At that moment she wished she had Ted Sprague's power instead of Adam Monroe's.

"Pet–" there was a sort of clattering noise and his voice was gone. The door's lock shifted and Sylar walked inside, carrying a light pink box with a DD insignia doused in a darker pink and orange. He nonchalantly skidded the box onto the table,

"I brought donuts." he smiled, the end of his sentence whisking off like a question.

"Thanks!" Claire and Peter both beamed radiantly. A little too radiantly, thought Sylar, for just a box of donuts.

"They're just donuts…"

"Not that," Claire laughed, but Peter finished her sentence, "That." he pointed to Nathan who was unconscious on the floor outside the door.

"Oh, no problem." he claimed, opening the box on the table, "As long as I get one."

"Sure," they both shrugged. He took a chocolate-drenched donut from the top row and took a bite. Using his telekinesis, he gave one to Peter. He grabbed it out of the air and laughed,

"For some reason, when you do that, it reminds me of Veggietales." He offered one to Claire, again using his mind-control to summon it.

"You're right!" she giggled, "Because they have invisible hands for some reason."

"I think it's because they're vegetables and it would be very limiting if they couldn't use their hands."

"True." she agreed, licking the chocolate frosting off her fingers before it dripped off.

"Now…" Peter began, stepping over to the threshold, smiling friskily at Nathan, "What do we do with him?"

Sylar curved his lips mischievously and came up on Peter's right,

"Revenge?"

"It's not justly to get revenge." Claire explained, but in her voice was sarcasm. She secretly hated Nathan since the day she heard his voice for the first time, outside Meredith's apartment, that time she threw a rock at his car. Claire smirked to herself, _I might throw another one today._

But Sylar did take her words seriously, and his face had enveloped an expression that came from the other side of him; the side that feels timid and slightly innocent. When that thought sparred in her mind, she spit it right back out. Sylar wasn't innocent. He was anything but. However, he was trying so hard to win her trust, sometimes it seemed like the old Sylar was gone and that he was indeed another person. But that was only sometimes.

"I'm not going to go crazy, I promise, but something needs to be done. Peter has to be vindicated."

"And I know the perfect way to do it…" she spun around to face Sylar, eye-to-eye, as she began to explain her ingenious plan.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

All Nathan could recollect about his morning was that he was knocking on Peter's door one minute, having a vivid dream of Claire slapping him back into unconsciousness many times, and the next he was here. Wherever here was.

He spent some time looking up at the oddly tiled ceiling, racking his brain trying to remember. When he got up from wherever he was, there was tremendous shock. He was in the president's office. Along with a bottle of vodka, a draw-on mustache, no pants, an "I hate New York" t-shirt, and flashing camera lights of the press taking pictures.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Mohinder was making breakfast for Molly in his small apartment when the news report came on. The bowl in his hand clattered to the floor. Molly heard the noise and rushed in. She thought he was having a heart attack or something, lying there on the ground. When she turned him over, he was laughing uncontrollably.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Matt and Matt Jr. were in the living room, the baby toddling around as best as he could, but after realizing how hard it was to try to walk, he resorted to crawling around again. Matt didn't care if he was ready or not, he just loved the smile on his boy's face when he curled into a ball and rolled around. He knocked into the TV and his ability caused it to turn on. And what do ya know, it's everybody's favorite senator.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Mr. Bennet was dog-sitting Mr. Muggles for Sandra, who, after some paperwork, he was married to again. Mr. Bennet was not one to laugh very often, his laugh was always casual and polite, never out of place. And even when he was home alone, with Claire in New York, Sandra at some dog expo, and Lyle at soccer camp, and only a barking dog to keep him company in the privacy of his own home, he still couldn't bring himself to burst out laughing at Nathan's (as the press called it) "wild night." But his lips curled up and his chest thumped up and down every time he pressed the rewind button on the remote.

_AN:_

_Shortest chapter, complete filler, but it had to be because the next one is so INTENSE. Trust me, I know. It'll be up by Tuesday, probably, but I make no promises. Momocon tomorrow, I'm so EXCITED! My first con! Yetah! Anyways, has anyone ever noticed that HRG never does laugh. I mean, yeah, he laughs as in heh, heh, but he doesn't laugh like HAHAHAA! I can't control myself kind of laughter. But then again, since Heroes isn't the happiest show ever, most of the characters don't do that. _


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: No ownership whatsoever.

Chapter VIII: Turns of a Color Wheel

The shoreline mist rose up above the setting sun and threatened to overtake its authority as it went down for the day. A man in a black, crisscross-strapped jacket stood on the cement bridge with his toes hanging off the end of it. Smiling to himself, he considered that if he were to fall it wouldn't matter in the slightest. Another figure materialized near him, striding up to him as if she had as much confidence she wouldn't be injured as well. There was total silence as they both stared at the grey sun retreating beneath the horizon. As soon as it was safely beneath them, he began to speak,

"We have to do something."

"No doubt." the figure replied, its voice a high-pitched soprano, "You want me to threaten him?"

"No, there's no need for that, but we have to scare him." After a pause he contemplated who he was working with and added, "Only a little."

She pulled a file out of her over-the-shoulder messenger bag and placed its manila covering into his hand,

"This ought to cover that." A cat-like grin pierced her face and the profile to him looked absolutely frightening.

And thrilling.

"I love you." he whispered throatily as he hugged her, the file still in his dirty hands.

"It's been so long…"

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

"I need you to do me a favor." Nathan bluntly (yet, with such composure) addressed Tracy Strauss from the other side of the two-seater table at La Posta, a restaurant aboard _Legacy_, his father's yacht.

"What is it?"

"Peter. I need you to tell him I'm sorry."

"Aren't you mad about the whole senator's-wild-night press bit?"

"Oh. I'm a little more than mad, but Peter is furious. He won't take my calls, and last time I tried to see him in person, I ended up underneath the president's desk with a bottle of Russia's finest."

"I see." she nodded, her lips curling into a smile.

"What–" but she wasn't there after he blinked, instead a puddle of water had taken her place in the chair and was now spilling to the floor of the deck, and proceeding a jump ship completely by pouring off the side of the boat.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Peter had just turned on the water to his shower after a long day at work when things started getting suspicious for him. First of all, water didn't normally clot in one place like the water building on the floor was doing, he noted as he lathered shampoo into his dark, thick hair. Second, it didn't normally rise to form a familiar face.

"Tracy?" he asked as the women appeared in front of him.

"Hey." she smiled, as casual as could be.

"Uh…might I ask why you're in my shower?"

"Short story…but I don't feel like telling. I didn't bring any clothes, hope you don't mind."

Okay…was Tracy Strauss flirting with him? He leaned in closer,

"Jessica?"

"Who?"

"Never mind…" he shuttered, scratching the back off his neck.

"Look, I'm here because Nathan wanted to apologize. For everything. He's really sorry and–" Peter twisted the handle downward and the water ceased to flow, causing Tracy to sort of stumble back, but since she was already done materializing, she stayed firm, quite to Peter's disappointment.

"Go away." he ordered, wrapping a towel around his lower half.

"Can you at least hear him out? For Pete's sake, he's your brother!"

"You know, Tracy, I've been thinking these last couple days, reflecting on how my brother has impacted my life, no matter how many good things he's done for me, it's always out-weighed by the bad. I'm better without him. And if I can trust Sylar over him, I don't think there's any hope for our relationship."

"Is there any hope for ours?" she coolly breathed down his neck, sliding her thin hands over his shoulder. He shrugged her off and walked out of the bathroom. So much for seducing him. Nathan was not going to be happy when Tracy told him the news.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Claire hid her face underneath the indigo sheets of the bed she was occupying, scared of what was waiting outside of her atrium fort.

When Claire was a little girl, her adopted father had shared with her stories of battles and glories. One of her favorites included "The Triumph of Good", it was about a brave warrior, who went around slaying demons and monsters of all sorts. But once when he was riding his majestic steed through the country he found a cottage where a young woman was ill with a disease no medicine could cure. Nobody knew what the disease was or what caused it, it was a peculiar epidemic, that exploded within herself. The valiant warrior decided he would help this girl and cure the curse that ailed her, and in return he would have her hand in marriage. The man fought with the nightmare that was inside of the girl. But this boogieman wouldn't be one to shy away from battle, especially from such a prize as the fair maiden; he wanted her, badly. The only way the man could overpower the demon, was if he got a kiss from the girl. Two men approached the girl, one was the monster, one was the warrior. The ailment had caused her to go blind and she couldn't tell the difference, but she ended up kissing the right man, remedying her from her vegetative state. When she opened her eyes, it was love at first sight and they were married, happily ever after.

But in Claire's story, she kissed the monster. So, was there a happily ever after for her?

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Angela stood on a wooden bench as she checked her watch one last time. Before she was about to get up and leave, a familiar man with a strong build and wide frame slid into the bench next to her.

"You're early." she scoffed.

"Sorry." he apologized bitterly, "I'm still trying to mend things with my wife here, so my schedule might be a little tight when it comes to things like this."

"I'm sorry if the fate of the world is interfering with your personal life, but there's nothing I can do to change that." she snorted, "On to more pressing matters, we have to do something about Lorenzo." He removed his notorious glasses off of his face and stared at her in the eyes,

"Oh. So, you want me to help your sons win in an election instead of spending time with my already-suspicious wife?"

"I wasn't talking about Richard Lorenzo, I was referring to Jackie Lorenzo." He slipped his glasses back onto his wide eyes.

"Do you think…?"

"Yes. She's still alive. I should think you'd be used to finding out a cohort of yours isn't quite as dead as you thought they were." She eyed him and the name Claude just seemed to scream from her icy glare.

"They'll probably be working together." He claimed, turning his head away from her and out towards the grassy park, his comment almost non-existent compared the screaming and hollering of young girls and boys that seemed to be drowned out in the background for the beginning of their conversation, but now settled into the foreground.

"I trust you're still comfortable with morally grey?" He nodded in an almost hypnotized fashion as he got up from the bench and absent-mindedly got into his car and drove away.

_AN:_

_Gasp, something that could make HRG uneasy? Not possible. That's why they call it fanfiction, my furry friend. Anyways, yeah, SYLAAAAAAAAAAAIRE! So subtle of me, right? I know I said Tuesday and it's Wednesday and all, but I had an awesome time at Momocon. There was a guy with a bullhorn telling people, "No, you are WRONG, get out of my walkway! It's not the tango, it's you getting out of my walkway!" Lol, had fun messing with _him_. Epic Cloud vs. Sephiroth battle! And I've been reading Vanarus's (I think I might've spelled that wrong) hilarious fanfics. I. Died. Laughing. Lol, unlimited talk and text to all friends on the same network. Don't tell anyone cause I'm sure that's illegal. XD_

_R&R (And no that doesn't stand for rinse and repeat.) _


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Owning of the Heroes I have not. I've been watching waaaaay too much Baljeet.

Chapter IX: Family Feud

"You can't hide in there forever." Peter called through the door to where Claire was staying. Once he found out the door was locked and that Claire was trying her best to keep quiet (which really meant she was hyperventilating and he could easily hear her) he knew something was up.

"Come on, Claire, I _know_ you're awake." There was a pause before she finally acknowledged she wasn't going to be able to fool the empath,

"Fine." One deep sigh later, the door creaked open.

"What's wrong?" he asked, plopping down on the bed.

"I did something terrible…" she confessed, looking away from his concerned stare due to her leaking courage.

"What?" he questioned, putting his hands on her shoulders, "Just tell me, I promise you I won't be mad."

"I…I–" A crash through the window stopped her from finishing her sentence. They both fell to the ground. Peter, being the medical major he was, took the jacket he was wearing and encased Claire in it to keep her from getting decapitated from the wide shards of glass, knowing that there was no regen who could come back from that.

Himself? He didn't worry too much about that factor. He never did.

Through the shattered remains of the window, he could see the object that had caused the barbarous incident. Nathan.

"Are you kidding me?" Peter shouted getting up from the glass-littered ground, "You could have killed us!" he added meekly, "Well, one of us…"

"You've been avoiding my calls, Pete. And my–"

"Oh, yeah, you're girlfriend, right? The one who tried to seduce me in the shower?"

"She tried to wha–" he stopped himself and steered the conversation back on track, "That doesn't matter. We have to end this before it–" He was interrupted when Peter punched him in the face. But Nathan didn't strike back, like Peter was counting on, he just stood there, so full of poise and proper etiquette. It made Peter want to punch his perfect brother all over again.

"Peter, let's not start this."

"Start this? Start this? It's already started, Nathan. You started it." Before he was about to land another blow, the senator's words cut through the haze,

"You don't want to fight me."

"Why? What are you going to do, fly on me?"

"And what are _you_ going to do, absorb me? At least I have my own power, you just go around taking everyone else's. You're faceless, Peter, a chameleon."

"More like a sponge." he replied darkly as he punched him again, this time his fists on fire.

"Ted." Nathan retaliated with words, "That's Ted Sprague's power, not yours."

"Get out of here," he yelled, "Now. Before you take too many curies of radiation."

Nathan was a little confused at first, but then he got it. Peter was going to get him to leave, the question left up to Nathan was did he want to leave dead or alive. He flew out the window hesitantly.

Peter smiled and Claire looked relieved. But not _too_ relieved…

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

There was a soft rap on the door Claire had once again locked. It continued for a time, the delicate knocks trying too hard to be gentle melodiously blending into her subconscious. Then there was a shuffle, the sound of fabric moving, cardboard being slid under the door, and light footsteps trudging away in disappointment.

Once she was sure he was gone, she picked up the package. It was a tube that held a scrap of paper inside. She shook it and it fell over into her hands, uncurling slightly. She picked it up and looked at the onyx ink-stained parchment and read aloud,

"I know you may have mixed feelings about what happened last night. I'm not trying to make you feel uncomfortable, or trying to do any of the things I suggested in the past, I just want redemption. I'll let you choose what that means. Signed – Gabriel Gray."

A tear rolled down her cheek as the days they had shared together the past week played in her mind. He had that shy, kindergarten-looking innocence illuminating his features, that careful and courteous tone of voice that was reserved for her and only her. But then the memories of him taking apart her head, cutting her open, suggesting that they be together solely because they were both adopted and couldn't die resurfaced. She was terrified that if she accepted him, he would turn back into the Sylar she once knew, not the Gabriel she had gotten so close to. And that was the only reason she kept the door locked, never opened her mind, didn't stand too close to him, never spoke to him like he was an actual human being, always gave him a death-defying stare when he told her for the millionth time how sorry he was. And while she kept her distance, tried not to get too friendly, or attached, her mind may have stayed closed, but her heart was wide open. And now there was something there that shouldn't be.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Claire hung in the door way, smiling.

"What?" Peter asked, looking suspiciously at the regen as she dropped onto the couch he was also occupying. He was sitting "properly" on the couch, while she was lying down on it, her legs inevitably crossing his.

"Whaddya mean?" she questioned, her tone calling to him from cloud nine.

"You seem a little too happy…" he grabbed a flashlight from the coffee table and shined it in her eyes, "Are they giving you drugs at that new school?"

"No…" she giggled, pushing the flashlight away from her, "It's just – I don't know, you ever wondered, back when we didn't know about all of this, that you were going to die without a story? Ever wondered if there was something more than birth, pre-school, elementary, middle, high, college, work, retirement, death?" The question took Peter by surprise. Her voice was too airy and carefree to have asked him such a question. But once he recuperated from the shock, he answered,

"Well, I always believed, no matter what I did, I would die son number two. I mean, my brother was the lawyer, politician, golden boy of the family. I was the dreamer, the one that the Petrelli gene was wasted on, the hunter that couldn't kill – no, that _wouldn't_ kill. My father hated me, disproved of everything I did and looked down on all of my decisions. In the Petrelli line, the perfect balance was to raise the perfect son, then give all of your wealth and coddling to a younger girl. But he was disappointed when he got me oppose to "Daddy's little girl." He got a half-hearted son that didn't cut it. A disgrace to the name Petrelli instead." By the look of Claire's face, he realized his mistake.

"I'm sorry. You probably just wanted me to say yes." He scratched the back of his neck.

"No, it's okay. I can work with that," she laughed, "It's just – look at us now! I can't die and I have a story, and you are winning in the polls against Senator Sky-Boy."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I checked this morning. The people seem to think Nathan is just a wet blanket on a new hope rising. I'd say that slandering speech backfired." she crossed her arms and smirked. Somehow, Peter couldn't bring himself to smile as triumphantly, which caused her own grin to falter.

"What's wrong?"

"About what happened yesterday, with the radiation coming out of me," he scratched the back of his neck again and shifted in his seat uneasily, "I'm scared the next time I get mad, we might have another Kirby Plaza on our hands."

"Don't be silly, Peter, you have it under control, I can tell. If it had been when you first absorbed his power, you would've already burned his face when you punched it. But you didn't. I'm proud, that's more slack than I would've cut him." Peter looked out at the window that boxed in the city. There weren't many stars in the night sky (mostly due to the fact the lights of New York out shined them) so there wasn't much of a distraction from the conversation he wanted to slip out of.

"Ahh," he sighed, "Tomorrow I go back to work, so I might have to go to bed a bit earlier." he told Claire as he slipped out from underneath her legs and over to the make-shift bed on the floor he always slept in.

"Goodnight," she called, slipping into her own quarters.

"Goodnight," he replied nestling into the bed.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

It was hailing like no tomorrow outside of the water-streaked, sun-soaked, snow-smeared, window that had gone through tough rain and shine alike for more than a decade. The window belonged to the old, rickety, paramedic van that Peter was given the privilege to drive all by himself since Hesam was sick that day.

_147 Providence Drive _crackled through the speakers of the paramedic van. Immediately he began to drive.

When he got there, he was surprised to see the giant, cow-sized piece of hail that had smashed the sidewalk. It was a very peculiar sight, like the world's largest rubber-band ball. Thanks to Mohinder, he was able to lift it out of the way. The sight he saw underneath it was more horrifying than anything else about the grotesque hail. Blood was everywhere. Gory pools of mashed remains were oozing out of it and when he saw the person that all of the injuries belonged to, he was even more horrified.

"Bennet…?" he breathed hoarsely, shuttering at the horrendously barbarous scene.

_AN:_

_Not so tough when I send a fricking two ton chunk of hail falling from the sky to land specifically on you, are you? JK, you know I don't mean it, HRG. And, yes, there will be some logic as to why that happened that will be revealed at a later date. Anyone got the 147 Providence Dr. joke? (Dr. or Drive, does it matter if I abbreviate it wrong?) I'm actually guessing no one did, so I'm just going to tell you it's from another fic of mine. That Kingdom Hearts and Heroes crossover I did a month ago? That's the one. And when Nathan and Mohinder were talking, Nathan called Peter a chameleon, to which Mohinder replied, "More like a sponge." So, I thought I'd slip that in there. _

_Now, there are two ways this could play out. You can review, and I can save HRG. Or you can not review and I can make sure Claire is unavailable when he needs her blood. The choice is yours. And don't think I'm bluffing, I once killed Lucy because I didn't get enough. Don't doubt my symbiotic relationship with reviews, it runs deep. _


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not even that rock in my backyard, I had to borrow it from my neighbor.

Chapter X: Like a Sponge

The plethora of blood coursed out into the street and drained into the levis, causing a sickening splash. His horn-rimmed glasses were smashed and tiny fragments of glass splintered the ground. Other than those palpable observations, everything was mashed and unidentifiable, it was enigmatic which organs were which, but once he put his hand down on a bone that was sticking to the side, it began to flow together and all of the pieces became one whole.

"What happened?" Peter inquired, once Humpty Dumpty became Noah Bennet again.

"Jackie, she–" all of a sudden he was shoved to the side with another large piece of hail. Behind him was a thalamic woman with long brown hair and dark eyes with thick lashes, her hand was thrown in the air as if balancing something,

"Hey, Peter, did ya miss me?"

"Who are you?"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me." There was a pause and she rubbed her chin considerably, while still holding one hand in the air, "Or maybe you're playing Haitian. Oh, well, either way I'd look up, hot shot."

He did look up, only to find another piece of hail, looming in the air above him.

"Thanks." he smiled, taking the large mass off her hands, "It's been awhile since I've absorbed any new powers." He threw it back to her, but she just swung it around, channeling it into a figure eight, but of course he countered the same thing.

"Now, Peter, let's be laconic about this. If you have been Haitain'd, then you obviously have no idea what I want. I want you to throw the election and let Richard win."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you can only bring Bennet back so many times."

"Why do you want Richard to win?" he asked, taking a step closer to her.

"To do what so many of us want. Stop running. Primatech has made me and my husband flee countless times. If he becomes senator, they can't just lock him up again, people will become dubious."

"But the company's been shut down."

"Is that what they told you? I thought you had more common sense than to trust your mother." At this point he was close enough to her to slap her. But he refrained and replied calmly,

"I'm not blowing this race for you. And if you try to harm Mr. Bennet again, you're dead."

"Hmm…I'd like to see you try." Using Edgar and Claude's power together he got behind her, no problem. With Ted's he burnt her wrist. She hurled a block of hail at him, but using Sylar's telekinesis he set it down gently. Using Hiro's power, he froze time and teleported to his mother's house.

"Who is this?" he questioned Angela, using Mohinder's strength to keep her in place.

"You caught me at a very bad time, Dear, I'm cooking dinner for the neighbors."

"What neighbors?" using Matt's mind-trick, he got inside her head and commanded, "Don't lie to me."

"That's Jackie Lorenzo." she blurted out before she could stop herself, "Her and her husband are both level-5 special escapees." Then, with her own free will, she warned, "I'd be careful, Peter, they aren't your average specials."

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Nathan stood on the balcony that led off from the master bedroom which he would now be sleeping in alone with Heidi filing for divorce. His chance to reconcile with his brother had gone rather awkwardly, and he was truly afraid that his relationship with Peter would forever remain severed. The cool, billowing breeze was tight on his face as he looked up to the stars that scattered across the night's thin air.

For so long, Nathan always thought he was the one Peter couldn't live without, not the one that couldn't live without Peter. But now? Now it just felt like he was missing one of his atriums and a black, empty hole had filled its place.

He turned back to look at the inside of his mansion one last time, then hesitantly flew off into the night sky.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Richard sat on a stool in the waiting room. Pessimistically, he recounted that the reason she was being filed away into the morgue were his own actions. He had brought this upon her and it had been too much.

He remembered the fight all too graphically. He had walked in when Angela and Peter were facing her. She tried her best to cover his attacks, but he had already absorbed her power of weather and sent her flying with a minute tornado, not even giving a second thought to the woman he injured or the nattily ornamented ceiling that was torn when she was tossed out of it. All three of the witnesses had ran outside to where she lay.

She was a strong woman and wouldn't go down that easily. The special brandished a lightning storm with a flick of her wrist and dispersed it toward the young Petrelli. He was taken aback, both in surprise and in physical blockage. He turned invisible and used super-speed to ease behind her. With a flick of _his_ wrist, her heart stopped beating.

She was pronounced dead upon reaching the hospital. Due to Mrs. Petrelli's cunning ability of her wealthy financial status, her intimidating and cunning personality, and the threats of destroying whole careers, the C.O.D. was left blank. She was now just a nameless face being stored in a sterilized, metallic drawer until a paid droid would bury her somewhere no one would find her. Maybe even Coyote Sands, of all the ironic places. And of course, there was no doubt he would follow suit when they catch him.

_If_ they catch him.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Peter came home that night purely exhausted and he did not expect to see Claire awake, sitting on the floor, eagerly staring at the door.

"Can I help you?" he asked, slightly annoyed, but, underneath the scowl, quite happy to see the blonde. Maybe she could lighten his day. Or his night, whichever came first.

"You know what tomorrow is, right?"

"Oh, crap, did I miss a birthday?"

"No…" she giggled a smile plastered onto her face sideways.

"Then what?"

"Tomorrow," she announced proudly, getting up from the floor, "is the day you become senator."

"Tomorrow's election day?"

[Peter Griffin: He said it! He said it!]

"Mhmm!" she nodded, but then noticed his distraught face.

"Is something…wrong?"

"No, it – it's nothing." he wiped a few beads of sweat of his forehead and began to put back on the jacket that rested on his elbow.

"You're going out?" she looked confused, "Again?"

"I'm going to visit a friend." he answered, putting one hand on the doorknob.

"Where?"

"Hospital." And with that, he sped off.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

The curtain was pulled back, revealing the little frail girl whose eyelids were covering her cerulean orbs and whose inaudible snores made the most adorable sound. He pulled up a chair and sat next to her. In three days they would be releasing her from the hospital and tossing her away to another orphanage on the other side of town. He stroked her light brown hair away from her face and smiled at the pleasant expression that grazed her features.

"Tomorrow's the big day. Yours is in three. I could win, but, I doubt it, ya know, one of those "low self-esteem" things," he air-quoted, "or at least that's what they like to call it. Whatever it is, it sure feels good. For whatever reason, I find it suiting. It means that whatever happens tomorrow, I'll be okay. If I win, that's wonderful. If I don't, it's not the end of the world. Besides, I'm already well prepared for that scenario. But you, there's not doubt in my mind that orphanage will want you. Too bad for them, you'll never spend a day there. I'll make sure of it." he kissed her forehead, then walked out the curtain, legal papers in hand and ready for the receptionist.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

"And I believe that through hard work and determination…" Richard was ranting on with his speech, and Peter knew he was supposed to be paying attention, but Nathan wasn't there yet. It wasn't like him to play White Rabbit in these kinds of situations. First of all, he was a devoted senator. Second of all, he always (always) woke up at 6:00. Every day. Third of all, he could fly. Three good reasons he shouldn't have been late, yet there was no first-born Petrelli standing at the far right podium. After the initial panic and worry, Peter let his eyes and his mind wander to the throng in front of him. He could see Molly standing close to Claire and Sylar, like he had told her to do. She was practically clinging onto Claire's skirt for dear life. But what was Claire clinging onto? He looked closer and swore his eyes must have been playing tricks on him. (Super-vision really wasn't a power he had empathized.) Was that…Claire's hand intertwined with –

"And that is why you should vote Lorenzo. Just think of the possibil–"

It was without warning, in a flash, and instant, faster than anyone could calculate what had just happened, there was a second _ring_, and a third, and a fourth. The 22 caliber had aimed its bullets with effortless accuracy, but the three wholes in Mr. Lorenzo's chest meant that one eclectic bullet must have strayed. Of course the man was dead, but the one in Peter was healing. Rapidly, he had to assume, due to the adrenaline rushing through him. He had to get out of sight before his skin regurgitated it out of his shoulder. Ducking behind the podium, he made sure the wound was clean before taking off his blood-stained jacket to conceal the fact he was ever hit with the ricochet. Standing up, he put his hands over his head as the guards rushed up and examined the dead clone. Peter watched, out of the corner of his eye, as the man soon disintegrated to dust, leaving thousands stunned. The dust moved, sweeping itself behind the fence that lined the stage, no doubt reforming on the other side.

Nope, Richard Lorenzo sure was _not _your average special.

H~*~R~*~G~*~I~*~S~*~B~*~A~*~D~*~A~*~S~*~S

Angela sat calmly in the limo as the TV showed Nathan finally arrive at the scene, only to be taken away by policemen for the murder Richard Lorenzo. As it turns out, Peter had one the election. He was off celebrating with Molly, Claire, and Gabriel. He had asked her if she wanted to join them, but she had some "unfinished business" to attend to. So as Sylar and Claire held hands under the table and laughed with Peter and Molly, as she licked her chocolate-dipped ice cream cone, he new, foster grandmother was sitting alone in a leather-interior limo. A 22 caliber in her hand. But the bullets? They weren't real bullets. They were tracking devices. And she was hot on the tail of the dust that really was Richard Lorenzo's true form, after everything he'd been through under Primatech's care.

A crooked smile crept up her face. She hadn't been man-hunting in so long. She needed that taste of blood on her tongue.

_El Fin_

_AN:_

_DUN. DUN! Yeah, I had this whole back story for the Lorenzos, but I just couldn't fit it into this series. Might make a sequel to explain, but the chances of that are pretty slim. I know this is THREE weeks late, but I started writing a Young Justice fanfic that got 6 reviews on the first day, 8 on the second, and 10 on the third, and it's still growing! I feel so loved! Yeah, whoever said diamonds are a girl's best friend never saw a girl when she got a review. Crazy stuff! Anyways, this could be my last fanfic for Heroes (considering I'm lame and don't have any ideas, if you have any and you're not exactly a great writer - no one is saying you're talentless - then PM me it and I'll probably end up writing it). Also, I know I said that I'd be taking votes for Peter and Nathan, but I hate Nathan, so I didn't consult with you guys, though I'm pretty sure there are no die-hard Nathan fans that I ticked off. And there's a fan-made Heroes movie currently in production and I will be voicing some characters. We're going to need all the help we can get! It's called Brave New World, if you're an animator or have any special talents to bring to the table (we still need a male voice-actor) then contact me at Actress2B_Soccer_ Llama (__real professional name, right? Shut up, I made it when I was six.)_

_And now, I say, adu! _


End file.
